Corruption of Praag: Emergency Insertion
If the Dwarves found a way to safely drop troops from the sky, so can we!
-- Last words of Engineer Otto Mensing before falling to his death
The wind howled in his ears as Vaogut Ironfoot grimly held onto the taunt leather straps securing him to the chest of Rabbitcatcher as they sped south. To Praag. Around him, lit dimly by the flashing lightning, were his brothers-in-arms, nine in total. Each strapped to their respective allies. Unnaturally fast stormwinds, conjured by the efforts of the greatest Stormcallers amongst the Brana of Karak Drakk, forced them onward, faster than they had ever flown before. For Praag had called upon the ancient oaths and binding pacts sworn by all those who stood on the front line against Chaos for help. A cult of the ruinous powers had risen up in the streets of their city, seeking to annihilate all that stood for what was good and proper. The city's militia had contained the cult's activities but could make no headway in rooting them out. Apparently, those humans who dabbled in things best left to the runesmiths predicted a ritual meant to consume the city in a flood of demons was being prepared and unless stopped, the cultists would succeed.
Allegedly, a mighty host of Kislev was amassing, prepared to arrive in the city and drive the evil out. At the best estimates by the longbeards, though, that force would arrive in a gutted and ruined city only able to seek vengeance for the fallen. So, King Ironarm gave his orders to the Falling Hammers. To make all haste to Praag and destroy the ritual.
That order had been given hours ago, and he was sure that only the vile brew that the priestesses of Valaya had made him drink was keeping him from perishing from the cold. This high up, above even the tall mountain peaks below, the air was thin and the temperature biting. But, the wait would soon be over. Soon, they would be above Praag itself. Then it happened, the amulet Rabbitcatcher was wearing began to change colors, turning from dull grey to a blazing red. Pulling in their wings, Rabbitcatcher changed directions, diving straight down through the clouds with a loud screech. Vaogut could feel his innards squeezed down, blood being forced towards his feet as his head began to feel light. Until the brew began to work its magic again, easing the pressure of the rapid dive on his innards.
Piercing through the bottom of the roiling clouds like falling stars, Vaogut took note that the rest of his squad was diving in formation as well. Below them, lit by flame and choked by smoke was Praag. Lower and lower they dived, picking up even more speed as the earth pulled them closer. Until Rabbitcatcher's amulet changed colors again, glowing a brilliant emerald. Without hesitating, Vaogut pulled on a strip of leather to his side, unlatching himself from the contraption strapped to Rabbitcatcher's chest. With quick practiced movements of his arms and legs, he reoriented himself, so that his feet were pointing at the ground instead of his head. Then came the impact, and even with the runes forcing most of the force outwards, it still brought him to his knees with a curse. Nine other thumps followed before he could even stand, each followed by nine distinct curses. Good, everyone had survived insertion.
Standing up, Vaogut surveyed the courtyard that the Brana had directed them to. Or what was left of it. The Falling Star Rune normally left very little of the surroundings intact, and this was no exception. Cracked tiles had been thrown outward, leaving only the dirt they had rested on. The brick and wood of the surrounding buildings had been cratered. Blood smears covering the ground were the only indication that before insertion there had been anyone in the courtyard.
"Sound off!" Vaogut yelled over his ringing ears as he unstrapped his hand axe.
Each of his brothers-in-arms sounded off. All present, no injuries. A perfect insertion.
"Our orders are simple! Find the Ancestor's damned ritual and stop it!"
"Where will we find it?!" Yelled his squad in unison.
"Where the fighting is the thickest!" Vaogut finished with a smile. "Now form up, and let us get to it!"
A man dressed in rags, armed with a crude axe, and covered in bloody symbols stepped out of one of the buildings yelling something no doubt profane. If he could be understood. A shot rang out from Thurdum's rifle and the cultist collapsed on the spot.
"Move, move move!" Vaogut yelled as he began to work his way closer to the center of the chaos he had seen from the air. His troops followed, each keeping an eye out for more cultists.
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Brew of the Falling Fool: Developed by the priests of Valaya in conjunction with the runelords of Karak Drakk, this brew is designed to assist a dwarven body to survive the extremes that aerial insertion by a Brana can impose. Granting warmth, improving blood flow, and a greater resistance to sudden changes in acceleration, this draught is only given to those who embark on the most dangerous aerial insertions. It tastes absolutely vile so that the priests can express their immense displeasure at the foolishness of those who need to drink it.
Rune of the Falling Star (Armor): In the Dwarven holds of the far north, runesmiths have worked tirelessly to ensure that their fellows can survive the harshest of trials. This rune is the result of such efforts. Designed to assist those foolish enough to purposefully fall from the sky, it takes the force of a fall and expresses it outwards as a shockwave. The greater the height of the fall, the greater the shockwave.
A/N: Another omake for the omake throne! A bit short, I will admit, but I was inspired by Snorri's tactical drop into the stronghold of a Fimir city. For if the Silver Ancestor of Vengence found great success in such a maneuver, I imagine other Dwarves would figure out a way to replicate it. Air-sick, foolish beardlings, to be sure, but the results would be spectacular.
I hope you enjoy the read!
